


The Perfect Moment

by SlimReaper



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, eventually, iopele
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz has been waiting for the perfect moment for years but that moment never came. Now he's going to <em>make</em> one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rizobact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Jazz already had the blanket spread and the basket in place by the time Prowl arrived. “Hey, my mech, over here,” he called when the police cruiser came to a stop at the end of the little dirt road. “Been waitin’ on ya.”

“Then you should have requested that I join you at an earlier time,” Prowl said as he transformed to his full height. Jazz was sure he’d already scanned the meadow and surrounding woods to ensure that there was no chance of any prying eyes catching sight of him. Jazz wasn’t offended, even though he’d obviously already done the same thing if he was out in the open in his robot mode. Prowl was thorough. It was as much a part of him as Jazz’s love of music. “I would have arrived sooner if it was required.”

“Naah, you’re right on time. Come on, sit down,” Jazz said, waving him over again. “Have some fuel. I made those little rust-things you like.”

Prowl hesitated a moment before starting to walk toward the picnic blanket. Jazz used the delay to fill a plate with an assortment of the treats that he’d made especially for the occasion. Not just the rust-sticks that were Prowl’s favorites, he’d also brought aluminum-dusted jellies, and delicate copper bonbons, and sticky energon roll-ups topped with graphite, and gummy galaxies that sparkled and shone with pearls of chewy alloy, and half a dozen others–anything he’d ever made that Prowl had ever shown a preference for.

As he loaded the plate, Jazz began to worry that he might’ve gotten a  _little_  bit carried away.

Prowl’s footplates entered his field of vision and Jazz looked up with his bright smile intact. “Sit, I said,” he repeated with amused exasperation as he held out the plate. “You gonna make me tell you everything twice?”

The police officer returned his gaze for a moment. “That would be… counterproductive,” Prowl finally replied. He sank down to sit gingerly across the checkered blanket from Jazz. “Jazz, your directions were admirable, but the purpose of our meeting was vague. What is our mission h–”

“Take this, my arm’s getting tired,” Jazz cut him off smoothly, pushing the plate of treats into Prowl’s hand. Prowl took it with only a little hesitation, then looked from Jazz to the treats and back again, as though unsure which was more confusing. Jazz popped one of the bonbons into his own mouth and crunched happily, but when Prowl still hadn’t even touched a thing on his plate by the time he’d chewed and swallowed, Jazz sighed.

One of these days, he was  _going_ to teach Prowl how to let go and enjoy the moment. “We’re staking out that rise over there,” he said, jerking his chin toward the west. “There’s reason to believe we’ll see something noteworthy there within the next few hours, and since we’ll be here for a while, I thought there’s no reason we have to be hungry, right?  _Relax_ , mech!”

Prowl pursed his lips and stared at him, but Jazz just tossed another of the copper bonbons into the air and deftly caught it in his mouth. Prowl shook his head at him but finally his doorwings lowered slightly–still not to the point Jazz had privately tagged as  _relaxed,_  but no longer high and tense in  _battle-readiness_  either. “Only you could turn a stakeout into a picnic, Jazz.”

“One of my many charms,” he agreed easily, and inwardly cheered when Prowl picked up a rust stick and bit into it.

He hoped he wanted more of them. He’d brought… kind of a lot.

“Been working on this for a while, I see,” Prowl commented as he chewed his bite, and only long experience hiding his reactions kept Jazz from freezing up or looking over at him. “All these treats.”

He shrugged smoothly. Prowl was talking about the treats, and not his plan–that was a relief. “Eh, helps me think,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, and it was true, and not a secret. Sideswipe had even taken to trying to stress him out so he’d burn off his agitation with a bout of treat-making, the little fragger.

“Hmm. Must have something pretty important to think about.”

That  _did_  get Jazz to look over, but Prowl missed it. He was surveying the far horizon where Jazz had pointed. “Fair bit,” Jazz replied. His hesitation with the answer had been only a fraction of a second longer than usual, and he was confident that it wasn’t enough to be noticeable.

He’d needed that moment to ensure that his vocalizer didn’t run away with him and spill things he wasn’t quite ready to say yet. Things like  _yeah, you could say it’s important, like how I can’t get you out of my processor and how many years have gone by while I’ve waited for a perfect moment to ‘fess up, and how perfect moments never seem to come along so I decided to make my own… yeah, lots to think about._

Prowl nodded and bit his rust stick again. “It’s a shame that the Decepticons must share this planet with us. It’s a nice world. I had hoped that in the four million years we were in stasis, the war could have ended.”

“Yeah, would’ve been nice to wake up and find Cybertron rebuilt and everyone living in peace,” Jazz agreed. It was a dream they all shared, and one that didn’t seem likely to come true anytime soon. He poked at his own plate of treats for a moment before forcing the brief melancholy away. “Maybe someday, though, right?”

Prowl nodded again and this time he looked at Jazz when he spoke. “That makes it more important to take hold of what peace we can find, I think.” Jazz was glad of his visor that hid how his optics widened– _did he mean–_ but then Prowl smiled and looked over the meadow again. “This is a good idea.”

 _The picnic. Of course he means the picnic._  Jazz vented slowly and regularly and used eating another treat as an excuse not to speak until he was positive his vocalizer was under control again, because it kept wanting to run away with him.

Instead he launched into a story, one he’d been saving. “Never told you how I got Sideswipe and Bee to stop their shenanigans,” he said, and when Prowl glanced over with the faintest hint of a smile that was the most he usually showed, Jazz grinned and described the pranks that the youngsters had played in hopes that he’d deal with the stress in his usual way. And Jazz had obliged them. He’d spent two full days making treats, filling the entire base with the scent of goodies.

And then gave them away to every single mech but those two with strict orders not to share.

Prowl actually laughed–short, and quiet, but dammit, that was a laugh and Jazz wanted to shout in triumph. “Devious,” he said approvingly. “I wondered why you brought me all those rust sticks last month.” He picked up another one and crunched it with another chuckle. “But you didn’t tell me not to share.”

“Didn’t need to,” Jazz replied with a smug smile. “If they’d’ve tried to swipe any of your rust sticks, they’d have to get hauled to Ratchet in pieces.” Prowl nodded solemnly and fished another one out of the basket, much to Jazz’s private delight.

The time passed quickly now that the ice was broken. Jazz had always felt at ease around Prowl, and as the afternoon progressed, the Praxian’s doorwings eased down to that  _relaxed_  point Jazz had been hoping for. An hour later Jazz broke out the real treasure–a bottle of high-grade engex, bartered from Optimus Prime of all mechs, and for a price he wasn’t going to discuss unless things went _very_  well. “How’s about a drink to wash down all those rust sticks?”

“Jazz, where did you possibly find that?” Prowl asked in astonishment as Jazz carefully poured the engex into two equal cubes, making sure not to spill a single precious drop.

“Ain’t tellin,” he said smartly. He’d raised his visor as the light began to fade and now he dropped a wink. “Don’t want you arrestin’ my supplier. I know you, mech,” he added teasingly when Prowl looked affronted.

“Arrest is what they deserve, Jazz. Strong spirits are prohibited on base under Autobot regulations,” Prowl said sternly, and Jazz started to worry that this really was a step too far.

But then Prowl smiled, and this time it wasn’t the kind of smile one had to look closely to see. He took one cube from Jazz’s hand and said, “So it’s a very good thing we’re not on base, isn’t it?”

Jazz vented out–he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped–and chuckled. “Thought you were about to arrest  _me_  there,” he admitted.

Prowl sipped the engex and hummed a pleased sound that went straight to Jazz’s spark, then looked at him over the rim of the cube. “Still might. Unfortunately duty would force me to confiscate your share and dispose of it before returning to base.” He took another sip to demonstrate just how he planned to do that.

Jazz pulled his cube in close with a growl of his engine. “You’ll never take me alive, copper!”

“Oh, really?”

It was just enough warning for Jazz to put his cube aside before Prowl pounced.

Laughing, wrestling, rolling onto the grass to avoid crushing the treats and that precious engex, Jazz used every dirty trick he knew to come out on top. But Prowl was one of the Autobots’ best hand-to-hand fighters and it showed. He countered so smoothly it was like he was reading Jazz’s intentions out of his processor. Every time Jazz managed to pin one of Prowl’s arms, his victory only lasted an instant before Prowl twisted, or pulled just so, or turned, or on one occasion, even smacked Jazz on the helm with a deliberately-twitched doorwing.

It took a long time, but finally Prowl got the definitive victory. The meadow was all but flattened and dirt and grass decorated both of them, but they were both laughing as Prowl pinned Jazz’s wrists above his head and wrapped his legs around the smaller mech’s, locking them down with his weight. “Surrender,” Prowl demanded, his cooling fans blowing as hard as Jazz’s from the exertion.

Jazz knew he was hopelessly pinned, but he also knew that saying yes would result in the end of the wrestling match and therefore the loss of Prowl's beautiful weight atop him. “Not gonna happen,” he growled, pulling and shifting as much as he was able.

Prowl abruptly leaned down. His bumper slid over Jazz’s, freezing his vents a second time at the intensity of his unexpected nearness. Prowl leaned in so close that Jazz could see nothing but his face. Shock and disbelief and wanting warred for supremacy in Jazz’s processor and he knew he’d lost all possible hope of playing this off as casual but he couldn’t get control of his expression, not with the mech he’d loved for years suddenly  _this close._

“Surrender, Jazz,” Prowl whispered as his hands left Jazz’s wrists and slipped up to tangle their fingers together.

It was utterly unreal, something out of a dream. But if this was a dream, no way in Pit was Jazz going to let hesitation keep him from getting to the best part. “Yes,” he breathed against Prowl’s lips.

Later, Jazz would remember those moments beforehand and wonder which of them closed the distance first. Later he would laugh and shake his head at all the times he’d thought about kissing Prowl but talked himself out of it. Later, Jazz would kick himself for being so focused and observant about everything outside the Autobot base that he’d somehow missed the signals Prowl had been sending him, hints that were so clear in hindsight.

But all that was later. Now, in this moment, Jazz couldn’t think at all.

There was room for nothing but sensation, the smooth glide of Prowl’s mouth over his, lips far softer than that stern visage would suggest, and so gentle as he caressed Jazz’s lips with his own, pulled back, did it again.

There was room for nothing but taste, the blended flavors of the treats and the sharp spice of engex, the way his glossa teased and stroked, still gentle, but still so very Prowl in its thoroughness as the kiss heated and he sealed his mouth to Jazz’s and staked a claim.

There was room for nothing but sound, the rumbling of Prowl’s engine so close to his own, the hum of cooling fans activating and slowly increasing in speed, and soft gasps and a whimper that could have come from either of them, but the deep moan when their glossas met for the first time was all Jazz and he didn’t have time to be embarrassed because Prowl’s groan of pleasure wiped everything from his processor but the thrill of it.

There was room for nothing else, no thoughts, no hesitation, no regrets, no holding back.

All that existed in this perfect moment was  _Prowl_.

Jazz had no idea how long it went on--a very long time, long enough for night to fall, and still nowhere near long enough. When Prowl finally pulled back, they were lying on their sides and Jazz had an arm wrapped around Prowl’s waist and his other hand stroked reverent fingertips over a quivering doorwing, and Prowl was holding his face in both hands and venting just as fast as he was. He stared at him for an endless moment until his vocalizer finally rebooted on the third try. “Damn, Prowler,” he whispered.

One corner of Prowl’s mouth quirked up in a satisfied smirk that would’ve been more expected on Jazz’s face, but sweet Primus, it looked good on him. “Got tired of waiting on you to make a move,” he murmured as he caressed Jazz’s cheeks with his thumbs. “How much longer were you planning on waiting? Until I drank enough to get overcharged?”

Jazz felt his faceplates heat because yeah, that actually had been the plan–get Prowl out of the base, get him relaxed, get him a little drunk, and then kiss him and be ready to run like hell if necessary. “Ah,” he said intelligently as Prowl’s sexy little smirk grew into a full-fledged grin, and in any other circumstances, he’d have been annoyed about just how smug he looked right now. But considering that he’d just given Jazz the best kiss of his life, well. He thought he could make an exception and let the mech have his gloat. “How long did you know?”

“What, that you had not called me out here for assistance on a stakeout?” Prowl asked, and when Jazz nodded, he chuckled softly. “The reassignment of all my duties on base for the rest of the day raised my suspicions. Also, this location made no sense as a site to gather intelligence or monitor enemy movements. It is well within Autobot-controlled landspace and of no interest to the Decepticons. Additionally, there is nothing of strategic importance over that ridge. However, our view of the sunset would have been extremely pleasing from this vantage point. But I would say that it was the basket of all my favorite treats that was the final giveaway.”

Jazz groaned and dropped his helm onto Prowl’s shoulder to hide his shame at being so completely caught out. “And here I thought I was bein’ so smooth,” he sighed.

Prowl kissed his cheek and chuckled again. “The engex was a surprise,” he said as though trying to comfort him. “Unfortunately I must log this mission as a failure, however. We have failed to observe the sunset.”

He snorted. “Scrap the sunset, mech, the mission was to kiss you. You wanna call a kiss like that a failure, you better be prepared to do better,” Jazz shot back, lifting his head and grinning a challenge. “If you think you can, that is.”

Prowl returned the grin with a glint in his optics as he pulled Jazz in close. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> credit for the idea of Jazz as a treat-maker goes to Gemma_Inkyboots and raisedbymoogles


End file.
